


People Who Need People

by adi_rotynd



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-08
Updated: 2011-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-17 18:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adi_rotynd/pseuds/adi_rotynd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt looks adorable and childlike; people want to snuggle and help him because of it. Rachel just wishes he’d appreciate the advantage it gives him. Kurt is largely unimpressed by the whole thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	People Who Need People

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy, and by all means comment should it strike your fancy, my best beloveds.~

**Spoilers:** Up to 2.12.  
 **Warnings:** Homophobia, bullying.  
 **Disclaimer:** RIB and FOX own everything ever.  
For [this](http://community.livejournal.com/glee_fluff_meme/4585.html?thread=4207593#t4207593) prompt.

 

 **1\. Finn & Quinn**

Early sophomore year, Finn had nothing against Kurt, but he didn’t know the dude very well, either. Kurt seemed nice, if intensely weird, but they didn’t really travel in the same circles except when their circles overlapped for dumpster-tosses (which were nothing personal and Finn totally felt bad about it even when he was watching it happen) or football tutorials.

So he thought Kurt was probably okay, even if he was totally baffled by everything he did, said, and most especially wore. He was also used to being baffled by Quinn, because – yeah. He loved her, but even before the pregnancy she was kind of insane. And now she was just whacked. That being said, she was mostly whacked in the timing department – like he got being pissed and sad, but she blew up at super weird times (and about the funniest stuff, or stuff that would’ve been funny if she weren’t so scary), and started crying at even weirder times.

And she definitely wasn’t friends with Kurt, even after joining glee club. So this wasn’t fitting in his brain.

They’d been walking to Spanish class, holding hands and chatting; they were doing pretty well in terms of … recently, because she wasn’t telling him he was dumb and he wasn’t thinking about Rachel. Much. Or how it was almost a relief Quinn was pregnant because it meant he _couldn't_ break up with her to see what the Rachel thing was, so he didn't have to be alone for even a little while and then what if Rachel didn't work out –

Then they passed the principal’s office and Quinn stopped dead, jerking Finn to a halt as well. She backtracked with the ease of someone who knows people will get out of her way and peered through the glass wall into Principal Figgins’ reception area. “What’s wrong with Kurt?”

“Oh, uh…” Finn looked over her head. “I dunno.” Kurt was slumped on a bench opposite the secretary, his suit all mussed and his hair disheveled. “He must be sick.” On his bench, Kurt made a funny face and put a hand over his mouth. “Whoa. He’s a total mess.” He was all flushed and sweaty-looking and gross; Finn hadn’t realized Kurt _could_ be flushed and sweaty and gross, even after a dumpster toss.

“Yeah,” Quinn said, and then dropped his hand and walked into the reception area.

“Uh…” Finn protested, looking at his watch. “Okay…”

Quinn ignored Mrs. Landau because, well, she was Quinn Fabray, that seemed to work for her mostly, and marched right over to Kurt. “What’s wrong with you?” she demanded.

“Quinn, come on,” Finn protested, starting to get the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach he got when Puck thumped his shoulder and pointed at a loser. He loved Quinn, really, and she was awesome, but the thing was… she could be really mean. “He’s sick,” Finn tried, and then thought that probably sounded not-like-a-quarterback and added, “and we have to get to class.” Yeah, that was better, she’d totally buy that. _Stupid._

Quinn ignored him. Kurt shook his head. “I think,” he said very slowly, “I _might_ have had. A _little_. Too much courage for breakfast.”

“Oh, baby,” Quinn cooed instantly, her entire tone doing an about-face as she sat down next to him and pulled his head onto her shoulder. “That stuff April’s been giving you? What a witch.”

Finn sort of wished he were drinking something so he could spit it out.

“I can _decide,_ ” Kurt protested. “I’m not… incomp. Incompetet…et.”

Finn backed up until he was close to Mrs. Landau’s desk. “Um, is it just me or is Kurt drunk? And… is my girlfriend, like, comforting him? Because the last time I was drunk she kicked my shin and told me to grow up and stop drooling.” Mrs. Landau glared at him. He nodded to himself and walked back over to the bench of pain.

“Oh my god,” Kurt moaned. “My dad’s coming, isn’t he. He is going to kill me. Or laugh. Not good.”

Finn looked away, because this was kind of embarrassing to see. Kurt would probably be mad if he knew they were here. “Quinn,” he tried again, for different reasons now. “His dad’s coming, he doesn’t need us.”

“So?” Quinn had one arm folded around Kurt’s shoulders and was petting his hair and face with the other. She was also either smelling his hair or just making sure her nose was out of range of his breath, which had to be pretty bad. “Go to class, Finn, I can watch him until then.”

“Uh, yeah, but why? He’s okay or he’d be at the doctor’s.”

“Are you serious?” Her tone went all whiplash again, the one that meant Finn was in trouble. “Are you completely blind? Look at his face, Finn.”

Kurt made a bubbling sort of noise and tried to bury his face in Quinn’s neck. It didn’t entirely work. What of his face Finn could see looked squashed and red. “Um. I… I think I’m missing something.” Which was normal.

“Oh, well that’s great, Finn. I’m glad _your_ hormones aren’t completely out of whack. I’m glad _you_ don’t have sudden, physical, overpowering urges to cuddle people. I wonder why _that_ is. For the record, he looks like a damn Precious Moments figurine and _I can’t handle it._ Go to class and leave us alone. And if you see April, tell her she’s a bitch.”

“No, April is. Adore,” Kurt mumbled.

“Shh, never mind,” Quinn said, and kissed his forehead.

Finn had never for a second even thought about Quinn cheating, but for the first time, he was kind of jealous. She’d never done anything that sweet to him. And was it normal for a girl to demand to be left alone with another guy? Kurt had claimed he wasn’t gay. “I can wait too.”

“Well, don’t say stupid things then.” Quinn patted Kurt’s cheek very gently. “Go to sleep, I’ll wake you up when your dad gets here.”

“No, I…” Kurt shoved himself into an upright position. “I don’t need. I can wait. Are we at school?” He paled. “I think Miss Pillsbury might be mad.” He rubbed a hand across his face and shook his head quickly, then peered at Quinn. “Are you taping this?”

Quinn put her hands on his face. “You probably won’t even remember this tomorrow morning, and if you do, I suggest you pretend not to. For right now, though, why don’t you let me have my way, because otherwise, I am going to hurt you, and we both know you only wish you were as scary as I am.”

“Why does my entire life suck,” Kurt moaned, and crumpled back onto her shoulder.

She rubbed his back. “Don’t talk to me about suckage, sweetie.” She moved her hand and patted his cheek some more. “His skin is so soft,” she whispered.

Finn really wished things could be normal once in a while.

 **Interlude: Rachel**

“I saw you yesterday,” Rachel blurted, which probably wasn’t the best introduction to a conversation she’d ever attempted.

Kurt closed his locker with a resounding clang and looked deeply put-upon. “Several people saw me yesterday, and all of them have been more than happy to tell me about it. I choose not to dwell,” he finished airily, and stalked away.

 **2\. Puck & Santana**

There was one perk to being mildly injured on the football field, and Puck never got to enjoy it. If you were _badly_ injured, everything sucked (except, if you played it right, the cred). It was all getting mobbed, then Tanaka screaming at everyone to back off, a hospital visit, an upset mom, time out of the game to lose your mad skills – total buzzkill. And even the cred was only if you got hurt during a game, as opposed to practice, which was just sad.

But a minor injury, one that just needed an ice pack and a breather, especially one during practice – that got you a cheerleader. At least one of them could generally be counted on run over and comfort you in order to raise morale. And if it would ever happen to him, Puck knew he could totally work it.

Unfortunately, there was Santana. She was totally smoking and badass, and Puck was completely into her, on and off. But she really cramped his style on the field, because all of the other cheerleaders were too scared of her to go and comfort him right in front of her, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to be caught dead playing mommy to an emotional three-year-old built like a tractor-trailer. He knew this for a fact because she’d told him twice, using almost the same words. Puckzilla never had a hard time getting the ladies, but it would’ve been nice to have them come to him once in a while. Damn Santana.

(And. The person he actually wanted to come running over would never, ever do it because she was macking on his best friend and carrying his kid, at the same time, because he’d had to go and screw everything up and because she thought Finn was a _winner_ as opposed to –

(But anyway. Damn Santana.)

So as far as Puck was concerned, the only good thing about Kurt being on the team was that there was someone else who was, in the event of an injury, going to get zero attention from the attractive, flexible girls at the other end of the field. He was all set to bond over it, even, in a manly-chin-jerk kind of way, because Kurt might not appreciate these fine ladies’ happening bods, but he was definitely enough of a stage hog to appreciate the attention and resent its lack. (And Puckzilla needed to cut back on the little sister-time, because “stage hog,” really?)

Kurt didn’t usually show up for practices. He said he had better things to do, and Coach Tanaka totally had a guy crush on him due to his having a valuable skill, so the little dude never got in trouble for like anything. Puck respected an ability to exploit one’s talents for an unfair advantage, so whatever. But Kurt was, unfortunately, there today, and he was, even less fortunately, standing sort of halfway between Finn and Puck when Azimio, the complete tool, hit Puck like tank on what was supposed to be a routine practice tackle.

Since Kurt persisted in his belief that football was essentially a tea party with built-in entertainment – hey, it’d take a stronger person than Kurt to not ogle Puckasaurus – Puck wasn’t surprised when Kurt kind of moved toward him with a hand out, like he thought he could help Puck catch his balance. But that was too bad too.

Puck went down hard, and Azimio crashed into him some more once he was on the ground, the dick. Puck’s teeth rattled. He had, in his defense, tried to shove Kurt out of the way, but that knocked him over and then Puck, followed by Azimio, landed on his ankle.

“Get off, you behemoth,” Kurt snapped, scooting backwards.

“What the hell, Azimio,” Puck choked, clutching at his ribs.

“What is your _problem_?” Finn yelled, giving Kurt a hand up. “Where’s Coach Tanaka?”

“Whatever, you bunch of fairies,” Azimio sneered, already up and retreating.

“Are you okay?” Finn offered Puck a hand too.

“Uhhh,” Puck moaned. “That freak. It hurts to breathe. I’m gonna tear his head off. In a second.”

“I really think this game should be criminalized,” Kurt said, and took a step toward him. When his weight hit the foot Puck had landed on, he made a funny noise and sat back down. “Oh.”

“Damn it,” Finn said. “Don’t move, guys, I’m gonna go find the coach. And some ice.”

“Yeah, sure,” Puck said vaguely, because whatever; he’d just noticed Santana. She was looking over at them with a deeply conflicted expression, like she was fighting the demands of her libido, which bade her now to go over to Puck, lavish him with affection, and then screw him senseless. That, Puck reminded himself, was stupid, because a) Santana wasn’t into affection, and b) she never fought the demands of her libido. It was one of the things he loved about her. As opposed to Quinn, who had looked over once, bitten her lip, and turned her back.

Disgruntled, he looked back over at Kurt. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Kurt sighed. “You twisted my ankle a little. It’ll be fine in a second.” He tried rotating it and bit his lip.

When Puck looked back over at the Cheerios, it was kind of like a horror movie. Santana was in the exact same position, had the exact same expression, but she was ten feet closer. “The hell,” he muttered.

“Do you think he broke a rib?” Kurt didn’t sound like he would be upset if one of Puck’s ribs proved no longer to be intact.

“If he did, he’ll regret –” and then Puck made a sound he firmly blocked from his memory seconds later because seriously, what was that. Thing being, Santana was suddenly _right there_. Puck recovered speedily and hoped she hadn’t heard that sound, because she would probably tear his throat out or something, like a shark that smelled blood. “Hey, babe,” he said.

Santana ignored him. She tilted her chin at Kurt. “What’s up with your ankle?”

Kurt looked up, and then around for anyone else who might be suffering from an injured ankle but also be the kind of person Santana Lopez deigned to notice. “Ah, I twisted it,” he said uncertainly.

“Huh.” Santana tossed her ponytail and moved to loom over him. “I’ll help you to the bleachers.”

“What about Puck?” Kurt tried. He sounded a little desperate. Talk about ungrateful.

“Oh, we can’t move him,” she said dismissively. “If his ribs are broken, we could puncture a lung by moving him, and then I’d have nothing to do at night for months. Well.” She glanced over her shoulder at the other Cheerios and smiled. “Less to do.” Puck followed her gaze; Brittany waved. Quinn was talking to Coach Sylvester. And stretching. A lot.

Santana bent down and slung Kurt’s arm over her shoulders. “Come on.”

“No, really, it’s just twisted. I don’t need help.”

“I said come on, dweeb.”

“Whatever,” Puck sighed, collapsing into the grass. “I’ll just lie here and die. Finn probably got lost and forgot what he was doing. That’s cool.” Maybe his remains would become fossilized and scientists in the future would discover them. Damn, he should totally have like dogtags or something so they know he’s the Puckasaurus. Otherwise he could get some lame-ass name like Lurdusaurus; what kind of shit was that? He’d haunt the fuck out of those scientists.

Maybe he’d hit his head a little.

He turned it anyway, so that he could see Santana and Kurt. Santana had deposited shortcakes on the bleachers, which were only a few feet away really, and then monopolized his lap. She’d also gotten his shoes off and had his foot balanced on her leg (damn, good thing Kurt was flexible or that shit’d hurt). She was rubbing his ankle and watching his face.

Puck leaned up on his elbows, even though that hurt like hell, to look closer. Her expression was all wrong. She looked – like she was failing to enjoy his pain? Hell, that was almost tender. He’d only ever seen her make that face at Brittany.

She’d noticed him watching. “What are you looking at, Puckerman?”

“Are you serious? I’m the one with the life-threatening injury and the fantastic abs. He looks like a damn three-year-old. What are you doing?”

She flipped him off.

“Puck has a point,” Kurt said gingerly. “I really… don’t need hel –” He trailed off with a hiss of pain.

“ _Pobrecito mío_ ,” Santana said, and patted his cheek.

“Huh,” Puck said.

“Santana, I appreciate this, but I’ll be fine any second now. I don’t need you to risk Miss Sylvester’s wrath for… this.”

Santana shrugged. “Whatever. I got what I wanted.” She frowned. “Mostly.” She pinched Kurt’s cheek. “Okay, there.” She hopped off and flounced away, back to Quinn and Brittany.

“Dude,” Puck said. “The hell was that?”

“I really couldn’t tell you.”

 **Interlude: Rachel**

“Kurt.” Rachel got him earlier in his between-classes ritual this time, so he couldn’t walk away. “I want to talk to you.”

He didn’t look at her. “You have approximately thirty seconds before I have to dash in order miss Karofsky on my way to history, so talk fast.”

“I overheard Quinn and Santana discussing your injury on the football field and I couldn’t help but wonder –”

“Oh, Rachel,” he sighed. “It wasn’t even a sprain. I’m not limping today! I’ll be fine for sectionals.” He took one last look at his hair in the mirror, then closed his locker. “I’ll see you at glee club later.”

 **3\. Mike & Tina**

McKinley High had a plague season, but that season was not within the first week of school. Mike had always figured someone must the first domino to fall every year, the poor soul who got sick and accidentally passed it on to someone else, who sneezed on someone else, who made out with someone else, and then it was too late to stop the spread. Then a few weeks later everyone would be sick at intervals, to keep things interesting – a respite, then a new wave of lurking disease.

But he never actually saw the guilty party until the start of junior year. He knew it wasn’t always the same person, unless Kurt was like some kind of evil disease-spreading mastermind, but he was still kind of excited to be on the new front lines. Then he thought about this and decided it was a little twisted and pathetic. Twisted and pathetic though his excitement might be, he was going to be one of the first three people to get sick and spread it around whether he was psyched about it or not, and it was all Tina’s fault.

Kurt had started the day out sneezing in math class and by sixth period he was coughing into a handkerchief, wiping his eyes, and looking generally miserable. Anyone else (well, anyone but Rachel) would probably have gone home after school like a human person, but Kurt showed up for glee club. For about five seconds.

Tina was sitting next to Mike, intermittently walking her fingers up his arm and trying to make it across his shoulders. She had yet to succeed, because at his neck it tickled too much, and he broke and started squirming.

Kurt staggered in and collapsed into a seat, where he proceeded to glare at Finn and/or Rachel for no reason Mike could see. He looked even worse than last time Mike had seen him, like living dead levels of badness.

“Oh, Kurt,” Mercedes said.

Kurt mumbled into his hankie.

“Are you _sick_?” Rachel shot to her feet. “This endangers our chances at sectionals! We all need to have face masks and scarves. Kurt should be made to go home. Where is Mr. Schuester?”

“Put a sock in it,” Kurt said, possibly. It could have been something else, but the hankie was in the way.

“I think it’s your turn,” Mercedes said, twisting in her chair to look at Tina.

“I thought it was yours.”

“No, I took you home last time.”

“Oh, right.” Tina sighed and kissed Mike’s cheek. “I have to go. Will you tell Mr. Schue I’ll be back?”

Mike didn’t really like having to speak without Tina there. “Can’t I come with you? I could help.”

Tina smiled, pleasantly surprised. “Sure, if you want.”

Mike resolved to not let on that he didn’t know what he’d signed up for; he would be a supportive and interested boyfriend if it killed him and Tina would definitely never get tired of his abs and go back to Artie. He grabbed his backpack as Tina gathered her things and went to stand in front of Kurt. “Come on,” she said.

Kurt looked up at her and frowned, making no move to rise. “Why? What? Where?”

“Home. It’s my turn to drive you.”

Kurt stared at her for a while, then managed, “But my car.”

“It’ll be here tomorrow. Or Mike could drive it!”

Kurt, slowly, had a new thought. “I’m not part of your…” he waved a hand. “Thing.”

Mercedes scoffed. “Boy, you are now. You need to go home, sleep, and moisturize – stat.”

“Oh god.” Kurt put a hand on his face. “Do I look awful?”

“It’s time to go home,” Tina said firmly, hoisting him to his feet. Mike grabbed Kurt’s bag on the way out.

He also got to drive Kurt’s car to his house, which was cool because it was a really nice car but also nerve-wracking. He followed Tina closely and prayed to not be involved in an accident. He was pretty sure he could eat off the floor in this thing; he really didn’t want to see what Kurt’s reaction would be if he dinged it. He remembered a weird story going around sophomore year that Mercedes had broken one of its windows on purpose, but decided that must not be true since Mercedes was still alive.

It was about a ten-minute drive, and then Tina pulled up in front of a nice little house and waved him into the driveway.

“Rachel is stealing a solo from one of us as we speak,” Kurt complained to Tina as she dragged him into the house.

“Mercedes will hold her off,” Tina said soothingly. “Where do you want to go?”

“Hm? We’re home, I don’t want to go anywhere.” He poked at his face in the hall mirror. “Oh, god, I’m a disaster. It’s a good thing no one in that entire school is capable of recognizing what a dire situation my skin is in right now, or I would have to refuse to show myself there again.” Mike really didn’t think his skin looked any different. Waxy, but that was just because he was sick.

“I know you’re home, but where do you want to relax? Sit down and I’ll give you the phone so you can call your dad.”

Kurt turned unsteadily to face her. “No, no, no. My dad’s at work, he’ll be home at six. No calling my dad. I’ll just… watch TV.”

“Oh.” Tina looked disheartened. “I could stay with you?”

“No, I don’t need you to. It’s fine.” He smiled and patted her arm. “Thank you for driving me back. You too, Mike. But all I need right now is to watch _Grey’s Anatomy_ with some tissues and no one to see what a disaster area I’m turning into.”

Tina looked at Mike, but he wasn’t sure what she wanted. _Failure._ She sighed and said, “Okay, fine, but let me set you up on the couch at least.”

“No, thank you, I really don’t need help, Tina. It’s fine.”

“Just let me get you a blanket and some orange juice,” Tina pleaded.

“Yeah, dude, you don’t want to strain yourself and… not get better as quickly as you would otherwise,” Mike tried.

Kurt looked more amused than impressed by his logic, but shrugged and said, “I’m too incoherent for this” before weaving his way into the living room and falling onto the couch.

“Thanks,” Tina whispered, beaming.

Mike nodded to himself. _Success._

He ended up being sent on a blanket mission while Tina got juice and put in a DVD of That Show That Gets Your Eyebrows Shaved Off, and tossed said blanket over Kurt, who was already most of the way to asleep. “What is your arrangement with Mercedes that Kurt wasn’t part of?” he asked while he was at it.

“Oh, she promised always to force me out of school and drive me home if I needed it but wasn’t admitting it, and I was supposed to do the same for her. It was for fashion emergencies, but then she came to school with a really bad cold and I got her to go home, so it turned into that mostly. I felt so proud of myself for convincing Mercedes Jones to do anything.”

“High-five,” he agreed. She grinned and obliged. _Success_. One of these days he was going to be worthy of her.

Tina pressed play on the Eyebrows Show and Mike averted his gaze, just in case. Then she turned to look at Kurt. “If you’re sure about your dad,” she started, and then stopped. “Oh my God, Kurt.”

Mike looked at him too. He was asleep and his mouth was hanging open a little. “Whoa. Wipeout.”

“He is so adorable.” Tina tiptoed over and touched his hair gingerly. “Look at him!”

“I can be adorable. And I’m Asian!”

“You’re very adorable,” Tina said, taking his hand without looking up. “And Asian. But you’re… you have abs. He looks like a toddler! Don’t you want to cuddle him?”

Mike considered this. “I could see that last year. He looked like a twelve-year-old. Now?” He shrugged and tried not to worry about Tina’s cavalier attitude toward Asian-ness, because if she felt as strongly about it as he did he’d be her _only option_ in school. Which sounded creepy now he thought about it, but how many chances at this was he going to get in high school? Exactly one. And Tina had as many chances as she wanted.

“Are you serious? Look at his cheeks.” She tugged the blanket up to his chin. Kurt, ungrateful thing, frowned and tugged away from her in his sleep.

“Okay, come on, let’s get out of here. Maybe we can still make enough of glee club to have an input on sectionals.”

“We won’t start planning on it for another six weeks anyway,” he pointed out, but followed her because, hey, he was in love.

 **Interlude: Rachel**

She really thought she would have had a shot at holding his attention this time if it hadn’t been for the illness. He missed a day of school and came back dragging and looking peaked, so she couldn’t afford to stand too close to him. She tried to corner him before glee club anyway.

“Kurt, I had a very interesting discussion with Tina, and I think that we, for the good of the team, need to discuss your deep-seated psychological issues,” she said, which also wasn’t the best conversation opener she could have used, she reflected later.

Kurt stared at her for a few seconds, and then walked away. Her cornering technique failed, too, because she couldn’t get near enough to block him without endangering her voice.

She slumped into a chair and eyed him all through rehearsal. Her time would come.

 **4\. Artie & Brittany**

Artie was strongly in favor of being Brittany’s boyfriend. She was hot, and popular, and hot, and talented. And she bothered Tina. And she was hot. _And_ she wasn’t put off by his wheelchair even a little. But she was also a little bit crazy, in a charming way, and since he could no sooner not do something she wanted him to do than he could get up and dance his way down the hallway, he sometimes ended up doing crazy things too. They were less charming when he did them, but there you go.

So he ended up making his way into the girls’ bathroom with Kurt on his lap, because he really, really liked Brittany.

It started out totally manly and normal, if pants-wettingly terrifying. Artie was late to class and heard Kurt in one of the more deserted hallways saying, “Get _off_ me! Are you serious with this?”

He resigned himself to watching someone do something cruel and petty and not being able to stop it, texted Finn for too-late backup, and headed around the corner toward Kurt, because he had to try. He was on the football team now, and friends with Puck. Maybe he wouldn’t even get pushed down the stairs for trying this time.

Azimio had a handful of Kurt’s hair and his other arm around Kurt’s waist, pinning his arms and keeping him still in front of him, and Karofsky was pulling his own arm back. _Oh, damn._ Artie cleared his throat. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Karofsky whipped around, then relaxed when he saw who it was. Artie relaxed a little too when he saw Karofsky was holding a slushy, although why they had to hold people in place for those now was a mystery to him; maybe a concussion had thrown off Karofsky’s aim? “What do you want?”

“I was kind of hoping to talk to Kurt.”

“Yeah? Well, he’s busy,” Karofsky sneered.

“You are _messing up my hair_ ,” Kurt snarled, and kicked back, nailing Azimio’s shin.

“Ow! Fuck, man, ignore Abrams, he can’t do shit, just go already.”

“Right.” Karofsky turned back around, took a second to get back into his slushy-throwing mindset or something, and tossed. It was kind of impressive; hardly any got on Azimio. They high-fived and chortled their way off, apparently at least as impressed as Artie was. Probably more. Considering.

Kurt spat slushy out. “And I hope that bruises,” he yelled after Azimio.

“What was that, anyway?” Artie asked. “Is this the new technique?”

“You’re never going to believe this.” Kurt wiped at his eyes. “Azimio paid attention in some class or other and heard about William Tell and the supposed apple-on-his-son’s-head deal. He thought it would be funny to try with slushies. They were seeing if Karofsky could hit me without nailing him.”

“Sorry.”

“I consider myself a sacrifice on the altar of Azimio getting an elementary-school level education. It’s a noble cause.”

Brittany wandered up, staring at the phone in her hand. “Who’s getting an education?”

“Never mind,” Kurt sighed. “I have to go clean up.”

“No, I can help,” Brittany said. “Have a seat.” She patted Artie’s lap.

Kurt blinked a few times. “Um,” he said.

“Artie asked me for help. I can do that.” She smiled at Artie. “I’m so glad you get along with my ex-boyfriends. It’s super hot. We could totally have a threesome.”

Artie choked a little on nothing and then said, “I asked Finn for help.”

“Oh. Right, I was using his phone in math for the calculator. I forgot.” She pats Artie’s lap again. “Sit down, Kurt.”

Kurt shook his head. “I don’t know how to articulate how bad of an idea that is.”

“Artie, it would really mean a lot to me,” said Brittany, and smiled and looked at him from under her eyelashes.

“Have a seat, Kurt,” Artie said.

“No! I don’t need a ride, I need to go clean up.”

“Don’t be like that.” Brittany grabbed his arms. “I know I’m with Artie now, but that doesn’t mean I stopped loving you.” She steered him around and pushed him down onto Artie’s lap.

“I am so sorry,” Kurt said, trying to stand up and failing since they were already moving, Brittany having begun to push them.

“Don’t even. This is gonna get me laid, yo.” Kurt was taller than Artie, and heavier than he looked, so this was awkward, but it wasn’t really uncomfortable as such. Physically.

“Congratulations,” Kurt said wryly.

Artie shook his head. “I know you’re really, really gay, but trust me. When a cheerleader as hot as Brittany asks you to do something, it is a universal guy code that you do it.”

Brittany used them to shove the door open on the girls’ bathroom and pushed them unceremoniously in. Artie was just glad it was empty.

As soon as the chair stopped in front of a sink, Kurt stood up. “I’ve been humiliated enough for today,” he said brightly, “so I’m going to go to the _boys’_ room, Britt, since I am in fact a boy, and clean up there.”

“I can help, though,” Brittany said.

“Actually, you can’t. Remember last time? I appreciate it, sweetheart, but I can do this myself.”

“We don’t mind,” Artie said.

“Well, I do, and I’m going. Thanks anyway.”

“Fine,” Brittany sighed. “Just let me get this.” Artie, who had always thought that attractive girls removing sticky substances off men’s faces was hot, revised this opinion; Brittany licked her thumb, then used it to clean both of Kurt’s eyes off. She licked it again in between eyes.

Kurt, who was standing very still with his mouth open, muttered, _“Oh my god,”_ and beat a hasty retreat.

“Uh,” said Artie, acutely aware of his wheelchair and the fact that his girlfriend didn’t seem to have a very firm grasp on the concept of orientation. “You are still… _my_ girlfriend, right?”

“Totally.” Brittany beamed down at him. “He looked like a baby. I’ve always wanted to clean a baby’s face.”

“Okay,” said Artie, and really hoped he was getting laid for this. And that maybe Kurt would mention to Tina how he was getting laid for this.

 **Interlude: Rachel**

“Kurt! Don’t walk away from me!”

Kurt turned around to face her, eyes wide. “Excuse me? That was me walking _to class_ , not _away_ from anything. Not all roads lead to Rachel Berry, you know.”

Rachel planted her hands on her hips. “Well, every time I try to have this conversation with you, you ignore me!”

“You have my undivided attention. Converse away.” He narrowed his eyes. “Unless this is about GayLesbAll, because I can’t bring myself to commit social suicide in quite that grandiose of a fashion.”

“GayLesbAll is still an excellent idea, but no, this is about something else. For your own psychological wellbeing, I think it’s vital that we discuss your pathological inability to use your looks to your own advantage.”

Kurt nodded. “Let’s go find Finn,” he said pleasantly. “And then maybe a nurse.”

“I’m not crazy! I was talking to Artie, and I feel sure of my case. You blatantly refuse help more often than you accept it, especially when you feel that your childlike good looks have inspired the offer. Kurt, I think we both accept that if we’re going to succeed in the cutthroat world of show business, we’re going to have to exploit every leg up we’re given. It worries me that you’re not able to use this.”

Kurt’s right eyebrow was reaching dangerous heights. “Rachel, I refuse help when I don’t need it. Not when I suspect people of having some seriously messed up fetish for my boyish face. Which I suspected of no one until you said that, so thanks.”

“Well, I don’t think you have to _need_ help to appreciate it when it’s offered, and –”

“This conversation is making me uncomfortable now,” Kurt said warily. “And I’d rather not be late for class. So… thanks for this chat, Rachel, and I’ll see you later.”

He had longer legs and managed to escape her. Rachel slumped onto one of the benches set into the hallway, and brooded, which she had practiced and could do very effectively, although this did not make her feel better.

 **5\. Sam & Mercedes**

The thing about Mercedes was that she had exactly one nerdy interest. It wasn’t much, sometimes it made Sam crazy because she was missing so much context and history, but it was more than he usually got to indulge with anyone but Artie, since he was trying to be on top in terms of popularity and a fascination with guys in skintight latex didn’t do you much good there, and even the other glee kids mostly didn’t like this stuff. (He suspected he had a few interests in common with Puck, actually, but… that was Puck.)

He loved Quinn, he was completely into her, she was beautiful, smart, and popular, she was driven, and she fit his new image. He was crazy about her. But she made him feel a little unbalanced when he tried to talk about this; she had this thing she did with her eyebrow. Once she said that it gave her flashbacks to conspiracy Mario theories and she didn’t need this again, so he was definitely stopping, because reminding her of either of her popular/badass exes was probably a really bad idea.

And Mercedes had a thing for superhero movies. Like the new ones, the Robert Downey Jr. and Christian Bale and Tobey Maguire ones. Sam actually kind of hated some of them, but that meant they got to argue about it and that was fun too, and they agreed very solidly that _Hancock_ was the best superhero movie ever made, no exceptions.

He was kind of trying to keep this quiet, because Quinn was pretty HBIC and he was afraid she’d be jealous if she knew he was friends with a girl, so when he and Mercedes were halfway through an argument about whether or not skipping Gwen in the first _Spiderman_ movie had been an atrocious act of storytelling fail and the choir room door opened, he checked who it was first thing.

It was Kurt, and he looked mad tired; he stumbled into a chair up at the back and promptly bent over to try and nap on his own knees.

“But he marries Kirsten Dunst,” Mercedes said, getting up and moving back to sit next to Kurt without missing a beat. “They don’t have time in movies to go on forever with some girl he isn’t even going to end up with. This is what I’m talking about, comics can just take their sweet time doing whatever they want, and it’s boring. A movie has two hours to get their stuff _done_.” She patted Kurt’s back and tugged on his shoulder until he was leaning against hers.

“Well, I mean, I see what you’re saying,” Sam allowed, thinking, _lightweight_ , and also thinking it would be really awesome if he could talk about stuff like this with his girlfriend. “But a relationship doesn't have to be true love to matter. Anyway, Gwen dying was a huge deal in the comics world, and it would have been in movies too. How many action movies go there?” But he was lucky as hell to have gotten with someone like Quinn in the first place, especially up against Finn and Puck and her no-boyfriends rule, so.

“Whatever. They got their story told without getting distracted by what the comic’s story was, it was good popcorn time, and James Franco is fine.” She was petting Kurt’s hair and hugging him closer. Sam supposed that it was a special right gay dudes got, having beautiful women tug their faces up next to their bodacious bosoms without even sweating it.

“What are you two talking about?” Kurt asked, leaning back with a muzzily horrified expression. “Am I going to catch nerd sitting in here?”

“Shut up, babe, you liked _X-Men_.”

“I liked Hugh Jackman not wearing a shirt, there’s a difference.”

“You look dead on your feet, boy. Come back here.” She patted her shoulder. Kurt obliged with a sigh and she continued, “Why don’t you take a nap? I’ll cover for you.”

“No, I don’t need a nap, I just need to recharge for a second. I didn’t sleep last night, I had to face my math homework.” Kurt plainly did not appreciate the play he was getting right now. His face was like in her neck. Sam wouldn’t cheat ever in a million years, and wasn’t consumed with Mercedes-specific lust or anything, he was just saying. Or thinking. This was a pretty handsy group, but he had yet to get anywhere near that level of benefit. Nice to be Kurt.

“Mercedes?” Kurt still had his eyes closed. “Did you offer that because you think I look like an unsettling baby creature?”

“What? I’m sorry, _what_?”

“Really. Are you offering because I look freakishly young?”

“Uh, is this a new self-esteem issue I need to be brought up to speed on, or…?”

“No, never mind.” Kurt sat up, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m up, I’m awake.”

Mercedes reached over and tidied his hair with a soppy expression.

Sam wondered what the odds were that she’d let him lie on her shoulder if he came in super tired.

 **Interlude: Rachel**

“Rachel?”

Rachel spun around beaming – no one but Finn (well, and Jacob) ever wanted to talk to her in school, and this was _Kurt_ , finally initiating a conversation! Sure, it would probably turn out to be about glee club and something she would be forced to disagree with vociferously, but she could dream for a few more seconds. “Yes, Kurt?”

“After your little rant, I have to ask.” Kurt took a deep breath and eyed her suspiciously. “Do you think I look like a kid, and do you have one of those fixations on it like Brittany seems to?”

“Oh,” Rachel said, deflating. “No! I mean, you have to admit you look a little young for your age, and that for those of us who are used to how extremely small for your age you seemed up until last year it can be hard to think objectively –”

“All right,” Kurt said shortly. “So, let me get this straight. All of my friends think I look like a toddler and you think I should exploit that in order to mooch off them? Do you even hear yourself? That’s among the more manipulative, condescending things I’ve heard all week, and keep in mind I live with _myself_ twenty-four seven.”

“I – I didn’t mean it that way, I just thought you should be aware of your advantage and use it –”

“You know, Rachel, I already know I’m not getting a boyfriend until I get out of this town, but I prefer to think that when I do I’ll be able to find someone who doesn’t think I need my cheeks pinched. And you do understand on some level that I am capable of taking care of myself, I hope?”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Rachel said again, seconds from tears and looking at her shoes to hide it; she would have played it up, but she was afraid it would make him madder. “I just thought, if I had something that made people want to be nice to me, I would want to know about it.”

Kurt didn’t answer for a while. When she looked back up, he was staring at her thoughtfully. And less angrily.

“You’re _me_ ,” Rachel said eagerly, stepping closer to press her advantage. “You’re just like me, Kurt, I mean, in a lot of ways, except fine, you dress better, and I am clearly the more accomplished performer, but – you’re me except people like you. I know it hurts that you can’t have a boyfriend here, I’m not trying to belittle that, I just, I’m jealous of you too, you know, that you can have… friends.”

“A good start would be not bringing up your superiority every time you open your mouth,” Kurt said eventually. “I find limiting it to seventy percent of your statements does wonders.” He reached out and touched her arm. “You don’t get to live vicariously through me, for the record, because it’s incredibly creepy. But…” he visibly considered several ways to spit it out, and finally said, “How would you like to sing another duet with me this afternoon?”

Rachel smiled, a little weakly, and nodded. “I’d really like that,” she said, and tried not to sound too pathetic.

“Let me walk you to class?”

“I’d like that, too.”

 **+1. Quinn & Finn**

They weren’t a thing. Quinn knew that. She knew he didn’t trust her, she knew she didn’t even trust herself. It was just that she also knew she _missed_ him, so much that it hurt. Finn meant, more than anything else, absolute safety and comfort, and she wanted that. She loved Sam but she knew exactly what their relationship always was, an alliance, and now that she couldn’t be part of his image she didn’t feel secure with him. She even loved Puck, but he’d never once made her feel secure.

Finn always made her feel secure.

Quinn hated stories with love triangles. She liked stories about soul mates. The world outside might intrude, might even succeed in keeping them apart, but they knew with bone-deep certainty to whom they belonged. She’d never felt that, never felt something that meant _absolutely, this is the one, I can imagine no other man in my life_ , but she had felt that she might have found someone she could _keep_. And it was Finn. At the end of the day, the thing she liked about love stories was the part where the search was over and everyone could relax, because they didn’t have to worry about choosing any longer. She thought she might be able to have that with Finn, even without true love. She wouldn’t have to worry or be lonely or worry about being lonely.

So they weren’t a thing, not yet, but she felt like she could have it if she decided to. And they weren’t a thing, they weren’t dating, but they were friends, and she could say hello to a friend if she wanted to. So even though they weren’t a thing, when she saw him and Kurt a few tables over at Breadstix, she told her mom she’d be right back and went over to make her presence known.

“Hello, Finn,” she said, eyes already sliding past him to Kurt, who was the best excuse to be over here – and had just choked on his water.

“Uh, hey, Quinn, hi,” Finn said faux-heartily, eyes darting the way they did when he felt guilty. Kurt kept choking. “Um,” Finn said, and turned to face his stepbrother. He patted his back self-consciously. “Are you okay, dude?”

“Fine,” Kurt wheezed, waving him off but still coughing.

Quinn slid into the booth opposite them, a little weirded out that they were sharing one; it didn’t seem like Finn’s style. “Are you boys waiting for your parents?”

“Yeah, Burt’s picking Mom up from work,” Finn said. “Listen, Kurt, sorry, but if I let you die your dad’s gonna kill me.” He closed his eyes and slapped Kurt’s back hard.

Kurt did, at least, stop coughing. Gasping a little, he took another sip of water and said, “Hello, Quinn.” Then he rounded on Finn. “First of all, _ouch_. Second of all, you’re supposed to smack people who are choking on something you can dislodge with brute force. Something _solid._ ”

“Oh,” Finn said. “Sorry. It worked, though, right?”

“So, Kurt, how is Dalton?” Quinn asked; she was plenty used to ignoring Finn’s segues into irrelevance.

“It’s really great,” Kurt said pleasantly. “The Warblers especially. And the lack of vicious homophobes who think the lockers are pins and I’m a bowling ball. I’m enjoying it immensely.”

Finn’s expression went from vaguely guilty to acutely uncomfortable. Quinn didn’t let herself join him, but she could sympathize, and not because of the Karofsky issue; Kurt was eyeing her too knowingly. “I’m glad,” she said with a dazzling smile.

“You’re not wearing your uniform,” he remarked. “Do I have blackmail material here?”

 _Oh, right. My entire life is completely off-balance again._ “I quit the team,” she said.

His eyes widened. “What?”

By the time she went back to her mom’s table, she’d mostly accomplished small talk with Kurt, letting him know that she was considering Finn again far before she’d meant to let that get out, and maybe a few dozen words total between her and Finn.

But the Hudson-Hummels left before she and her mom did, and she had an excellent view of Finn and Kurt heading over to Kurt’s car. Kurt was wearing a top layer that was doubtless the very cutting edge of fashion but was also incredibly impractical and laced up the back, and it was coming undone. Finn said something and gestured to it; Kurt shook his head. Then he stopped and shrugged, turning his back to Finn.

Finn beamed. He was maybe point five percent successful in straightening out the strings and re-tying them, but he dusted Kurt’s shoulders off after and looked absurdly proud, like he’d just gotten his kid ready for their first day of school.

Her mom looked out the window. “What is it, sweetie?” She saw Finn. Quinn knew she saw him. But she looked back to Quinn and smiled. “Do you see something?”

“No,” Quinn said. “It’s nothing.”

Finn, she reflected, had come a long way. He wouldn’t have been caught dead helping a gay kid with his clothes in public last year, especially a gay kid who’d had a transparent scheme to get into his pants. He could be dumb, but he was a dependable guy and he forgave people. Those were important qualities. Quinn had been kicked out of her house while pregnant by her own parents; dependability was important to her. And she wasn’t going to break up with Sam, because whatever this was with Finn, it might not be enough and she just didn’t want to be alone, not even for a little while.

So they weren’t a thing. But she could think about it.

 **Finale: Rachel**

“I’m sorry,” Rachel said when she realized she was a half an hour into her Finn rant and Kurt’s eyes were glazing over, unless it was the unfortunate lighting in the mall. “Am I being boring?”

“Boring isn’t the word I’d use,” Kurt said. “Well, not the only word I’d use.” He smiled and touched her hand. “Hey, if you can’t talk to me about a sad, pathetic obsession with Finn Hudson, who can you talk to?”

“I don’t mean to talk your ear off, though. It’s just that he was kind of all –”

“Rachel,” Kurt said. He took her arm and tugged her over to a bench, apparently abandoning their search for an animal sweater that wouldn’t offend his sensibilities. “You’re an amazing, talented person. I know you love Finn, but you don’t _need_ him. You can get by without him for now, I promise.”

“I can’t,” Rachel confided, whispering. “I was fine before him, you know. But now I, I know what I’m missing and nobody in glee club likes me. If Finn’s not on my side, no one… there’s no one who _likes_ me. No one thinks I’m a good person. Finn had faith in me, and I –”

“Cheated on him?” Kurt moved closer to her on the bench. “You know, I can see what you meant before. About letting people help even if they only want to do so because they think, condescendingly, that I look like a kid so I must be incapable of doing something on my own? I suppose I don’t have to need help to enjoy it. It’s sort of nice.”

“Now you’re just rubbing it in,” Rachel said half-heartedly.

“No, I’m making a point. You know me pretty well, for someone I spent so much time resenting and avoiding. And I think I know you pretty well, too.” He smiled entirely too sweetly for what he was saying and continued, “You’re really not a good person. I would know; I kind of am you.” He took her hand. “I of all people know how horrible it is to hear ‘well, things suck at school _but_ here’s a half-assed consolation prize’.”

Rachel sniffled. “Are you going to say it anyway? Because I could really use a consolation prize right now.”

“In that case… I know that things suck for you at school, _but_ , all things considered? I like you.”

“Are you saying that in an attempt to convince me to give up on Finn?”

“No, mostly because I don’t believe it would help.” He almost said something else, and didn’t. She considered asking, and then considered that it was Kurt, and if _he_ didn’t want to hurt her feelings by telling her, she might really be better off not knowing.

“I hope you know I like you too,” she said.

“Good. There, we each have one person who doesn’t care that we’re obnoxious. I’d say it’s a start.”

“It is,” Rachel decided, even though he was cheating because he had Mercedes and Blaine. “And I could always stay on the football team; I feel it facilitated a level of bonding that surpasses –”

“Oh god, Rachel, football? Really? Not even having friends is worth that much unnecessary sweat.” Kurt retrieved his bags and tugged her to her feet.

“Yes, well,” Rachel said as they (or Kurt at least) started looking for the next store, “I suppose you never truly engaged emotionally in the sport the way I did. You were the kicker and they only ever used you for that; it’s probably nothing like being on the front line, face to face with the enemy, adrenaline coursing through your veins…”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “I can’t remember why I ever disliked you.”

Rachel kicked his ankle, and since he was wearing some insane kind of military boots ended up hurting her toe. He smirked.

“Kurt? Can we go shoe-shopping after this?”

“Oh Rachel. I thought you’d never ask.”

“I need better kicking shoes.”


End file.
